If It is Done with Love
by ThePaintedScorpionDoll
Summary: "Love is being willing to make sacrifices that result in the other person's happiness. It's being able to do what needs to be done in order to make them safe." / Companion piece to "It Takes the Truth to Fool Me".


**If It is Done with Love**

"_He represented a God to me that was so beautiful that I'd do anything for him.  
__I'd do anything for God.  
__Even murder, if I believed it was right.  
__How could it not be right if it is done with love?  
__I have no remorse for doing what was right to me.  
__I have no guilt in me."_

* * *

When you take the time to step back and look at the bigger picture, the entire situation is very simple.

Kurt Hummel transferred to Dalton Academy to escape bullying at the hands of one David Karofsky.

Kurt Hummel is lonely at Dalton because he feels out of place here and misses his friends.

Despite feeling out of place and missing his friends, Kurt is adamant about not going back to McKinley so long as David Karofsky is still freely roaming the halls and attending class like nothing is wrong. Like he didn't manage to drive another human being to the brink of emotional collapse with intimidation and blatant invasion of personal space. Like he didn't casually threaten to kill that human being if they even so much as considered getting help. Like he won't do the same to someone else in the future, even if every indication is present that he will, that he might already be doing so without anyone realizing it.

When you look at it that way, the solution is painfully obvious.

Remove the problem, and everything will go back to the way it was before this mess started. To the way it _should_ be.

True, it means Kurt will return to McKinley, but he'll be _happy_. He'll be _safe_. Isn't that important? Isn't that was love is?

"Love is being willing to make sacrifices that result in the other person's happiness. It's being able to do what needs to be done in order to make them safe."

That's what Blaine said to Kurt the night after he finally resolved to do what needed to be done. They were in Blaine's room at Dalton when the subject of Kurt's feeling out of place at at the boarding school once again came up. An Ink Spots record was spinning on the phonograph, "If I Didn't Care" drifting out of the speakers. Blaine offered his solution to the problem of David Karofsky dressed as a joke. When it wasn't met with disgust—laughed off instead as merely wishful thinking—he presented it again with the same sort of seriousness he used when presenting a song suggestion to the Warblers.

Needless to say, convincing Kurt of the virtues of murder took a lot more effort.

"But I did it. It was hard, and he didn't think that I would seriously do it, that I would stick my neck out this far and risk getting arrested—or worse—but I did it. I got him to understand that it was the only way. That reasoning wouldn't work with a guy like you."

In the warehouse, Blaine Anderson paces back and forth, tapping the blade of a knife against his right thigh. His footsteps echo into the high ceilings. In the warehouse, bare bulbs hang spaced every several feet apart, allowing darkness to turn what would otherwise be a sea of dirty yellow light into small ponds. His conversation partner sits in a chair wrists and ankles bound to it with rope that cuts into his skin with every attempt Blaine's prisoner makes to free himself. There is a dark purple welt near the prisoner's right temple, the result of a powerfully-swung bat. The prisoner coughs a little.

"So I guess that means you're going to kill me."

Blaine stops pacing. They are the first words Dave Karofsky has uttered since coming to, and the lack of nervousness or fear in his voice catches his captor slightly off guard. The older boy sounds so…resigned to it. Indifferent. Or maybe…incredulous? Maybe he doesn't really believe that Blaine will do it. That he _can_ do it, rather. The older boy probably expects to go home roughed up but nothing more. This is all just to scare him straight.

In a manner of speaking, anyway.

"You're really gonna do it. You're gonna kill me. For _him_? For that little fairy?"

The reaction is a swift one. Two steps forward, a drawing back of the arm; the sound of flesh on flesh echoes into the high ceilings. There will be a bruise near Dave's mouth to match the welt further up. Blaine's eyes shine with all of the anger hiding inside of him, anger that has been growing long before he and Dave crossed paths, planted there by the first round of assholes who thought it would be fun to make him their human target. This one is like all the others in the past. Worse, perhaps, because of the self-denial. Partial self-denial. The silly idea that he could have his cake and eat it, too; that he could be the public tormentor _and_ the private lover. Thinking about it makes Blaine's stomach turn. It makes him all the more prepared to do what he must.

"Not so quickly," he says out loud, "but I plan on it."

"For him?"

"_Yes_, for him. For Kurt. Because he doesn't deserve the way you've treated him, and because you don't deserve to be on the same planet as he does." Blaine begins to pace again. "I won't have anyone treating him like he's less than what he's worth."

"So you're going to kill everyone that treats him like shit?" Dave asks. "You'll either be very busy or in prison."

The younger boy chuckles. He turns his head to look at his prisoner, and the smile on his face makes Dave shift a little in his bonds. He's getting it now. Reality is setting in for him. Blaine can sense it.

"The sad part about this is," Blaine says, "it didn't have to be like this. You could have backed off. You could have worked on accepting yourself instead of lashing out at others. We could have been such _friends_, Dave. Such _good_ friends.

"But you couldn't back off, could you? You persisted. You stalked him. Intimidated him! Violated his personal—y-you—_forced yourself_ on him! A-and then you _threaten_ him with his life like it's nothing to you. Like it's nothing at all."

The younger boy draws in a breath, letting it out as a heavy sigh. The anger is moving, writhing just under his skin, but he is trying hard not to release it. Control. Composure. These things must be dealt with calmly. Overreacting leads to sloppiness leads to getting caught. Blaine looks at the knife in his hand. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe he should have brought a gun instead. One of his father's junk ones that still fires well enough but would never have been missed if it disappeared. But that would have been too quick! Too polite, almost!

_Not if you'd shot him in the liver or one of the kidneys._

But there is always a chance of surviving those kinds of wounds. Small, sure, but a chance is a chance! And the noise of the gun going off… Even as far away from the main hub of town as this place is, it would be Blaine's misfortune that someone hear it and come looking around. A silencer would have done shit to muffle the sound. If only it were like in the movies…

"Do you really think killing me is going to solve anything? It's only gonna give you more problems," Dave says. "My family's gonna notice me missing. Cops have a job to do. They'll come looking for me. They'll find out what happened."

"They'll have to find you first, and that's not going to happen," Blaine answers. "People go missing every day, Karofsky. Teenagers, they—they run away all the time and I mean…you with your secrets…with your deep-seated self-hatred… You might be missed, but nobody will question it too much. Nobody will be too surprised by the idea that you just ran off once they start digging for clues and find all the other things you've hidden."

Dave tilts his head and furrows his eyebrows. "What're you talking about?"

The younger boy just looks at him knowingly. "We all have things that we hide from the rest of the world. Even the people who think they know us the best… _(He shakes his head.)_ What am I doing wasting my breath on you?"

He strides forward, knife still lazily tapping at his side. Dave straightens in his seat. His expression is shifting. Is the idiot finally getting it? Is the reality of what's about to happen _finally_ sinking in? Judging from the defiant way he raises his chin, no. He really thinks he's going to get out of here! That Blaine is just going to use that knife to cut the ropes keeping him in the chair and send him on his way with, perhaps, an apologetic word or two spliced between pleads not to beat him up for his trouble. If only!

"You really shouldn't do that. Only an idiot would offer their throat by doing that."

"And how the fuck would you know?"

Blaine leans forward, grabbing a fistful of his prisoner's hair. The smile on his face as he gingerly tilts Dave's head back farther is patient. Serene, almost.

The same sort of serenity fills Blaine's voice as he asks, "Do you really think you're the first?"

_There_ it is. The understanding that makes the eyes grow wide and shine bright just before the sharp blade of the knife opens the flesh. It's never like in the movies. When a throat is slit, the spray is only on the initial opening—like the blood is surprised to be free of container. Then it flows freely, running down the skin and soaking everything in its path like water in a cup filled past capacity. You have to put pressure into the initial cut, however, to ensure it is a fatal one. There are arteries to consider. Layers of flesh, the muscles and nerves, the esophagus… You know you've done it right when the person looks looks like they're choking on air.

Blaine steps back, surveying his work. There is blood on his knife, on his cutting hand. There will be more blood on him before his work is done, but for now, there is this moment. The air is full of gargling sounds. Dave's eyes are rolling around in his head. He already looks remarkably paler, his moving lips much bluer than they were even a moment ago. He wheezes with each breath he tries to get. It takes Blaine a moment to realize that Dave is actually trying to form _words_.

Or, well, at least _a_ word.

A question.

_Why?_

Such a simple question! And the answer makes that serene smile on his face wider.

"For love," Blaine says. "Because I'm in love."

More gurgling. More wheezing. Dave's skin grows paler. His clothes grow darker with blood. The life in his eyes is dimmer. And still, with what little strength remains, he manages to mouth another word!

_Insane._

"In the end," Blaine tells him, "what's the difference?"

* * *

The hour is late when the phone goes off, but Kurt Hummel is wide awake to receive the call. Shutting his eyes, he lets the tune fill the silence of his dark bedroom.

_Like the wind that shakes the bough  
__He moves me…with a smile…  
__The difficult, I'll do right now.  
__The impossible, will take a little while…_

_I say I'll care forever  
__And I mean forever—  
__If I have to hold up the sky…_

Only one person would call this late.

"Hello?"

"_Kurt."_

Blaine sounds tired, like he might fall asleep on the phone the way he has in some of their past late-night conversations. This could be like any other night for them, except that tonight—

"Where are you?"

"_At home,"_ Blaine answers. _"I didn't want to, uh… I-it's late, so I didn't—I didn't want to, uh—"_

"Are you okay?" Kurt sits up. His heart jumps into his throat. "Blaine, what's wrong?"

"_Nothing. I'm just tired, Kurt. That's all. A-and I think I pulled something in my back, but—but nothing's wrong. I just need to lie down. Get some sleep."_ There is a lengthy pause from Blaine's end. _"Kurt?"_

"Yes?"

Another lengthy pause. And then—

"_It's done, Kurt. I did it."_

Kurt's heart drops back into his chest. He shuts his eyes and lets out a small sigh.

"Okay." He nods. "Okay. What now? Wh-what happens—?"

"_I'll take care of everything. Don't worry. Will I be able to see you tomorrow night? For dinner or something?"_

"Of course." He says it without hesitation as he lies back down on his bed. Why _wouldn't_ he want to see Blaine tomorrow night? "Where? Breadstix?"

"_No, I—I'm not sure yet, but not there. Somewhere different. I'll text you tomorrow when I find a good place."_

"Okay."

"_I love you,"_ Blaine says, softly.

"I love you, too, Blaine." And he means it. He genuinely means it. Kurt Hummel loves Blaine Anderson. "Get some rest. I'll see you tomorrow."

"_Okay. Goodnight."_

"Goodnight, Blaine."

Kurt waits until Blaine hangs up to put the phone back into the niche by his bed. As an afterthought, he first sets it to silent, only to then turn it off completely. No more calls. No more messages. Not until tomorrow. He rolls onto his back and stares into the darkness.

_It's done, Kurt._

Like maybe they were talking about some major homework assignment or difficult rearrangement for the Warblers' next performance.

_It's done, Kurt._

He thought the moment would feel different. He thought that, when Blaine finally called to let him know that it was all over and done with, he would feel _something_. Disgust. Horror. Shock. Sadness, maybe, or even _guilt_. Something that would inform him that he was a bad person; that he was wrong for agreeing in the first place, wrong for listening to Blaine plan it all, wrong for not calling him and putting a stop to the whole thing. He thought that he would feel like a monster. He thought he would feel…_evil_.

Kurt feels none of those things.

He feels lighter.

Freer.

Safer.

At peace.

Good.

As disturbing as it is, the deeper reality sinks in, the more Kurt realizes that he honestly feels _good_. Maybe more than good. Happy. Content, at the very least. And all it took was for one person to permanently disappear.

Kurt rolls onto his side, surprised to find himself actually tired despite being completely awake merely moments ago!

He shuts his eyes.

He sleeps.

And he dreams.

And not a single one troubles him.


End file.
